


left turn on a red light

by strokeof_genie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:26:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strokeof_genie/pseuds/strokeof_genie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' dad has a hard job. It's about to get more difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles and his dad are debating over Chinese takeout or picking up a pizza, because Thursday night is usually delivery or takeout night. His dad works later to clear out most paperwork for the influx of everything that the weekend will bring, and lately it's been worse. His dad doesn't know why, just that animal attacks and dead bodies in burnt out houses and lots of paperwork for solving cold cases tend to mean extra work for him.

Stiles feels guilty for lying to him. "We haven't eaten together in almost a week, Stiles, and tonight's my first night off in twice that," his dad says, after picking him up at home in a cruiser. "And I'm not going to order off of the eat-right menu, either," he says, and sends a half-hearted glare toward his son. So that's final, then, Stiles guesses. "How about the, you know, with the burgers?" His dad is talking about the kind of fast food place with more _pizzazz_ , which isn't normally his thing, but he knows that Stiles likes the fries. Stiles knows which place his dad is talking about because he takes one hand away from the wheel to wiggle his hand at Stiles in a way that can only be describes as "wristy."

"Sure, okay," Stiles agrees readily. His initial plan had been to snoop around at the station, see what he can glean, but his dad has been pretty keen on keeping him away. Probably because a lot of what's happening is trying to figure out what happened to Lydia. So Stiles figures that if he can't go to the station, he'll keep his dad away too, for one night. The man needs a break. 

It would be right then, when Stiles makes the mistake of thinking that his dad needs a _break_ , that Murphy's Law strikes: they see a Porsche skidded to a halt on the side of the road, its excellent brakes stopping it just feet from a tree. "Isn't that...?" His dad asks, looking over at Stiles. Fuck, Jackson. Who is a werewolf now, according to Scott's wolfish nose.

Stiles gulps. "There's only one Porsche in town, dad," Stiles answers, and he tries to convince himself that the flash of yellow that he sees on the driver window is from the cruiser's headlights, even though he knows that they're not on. Maybe Jackson's stereo? "Um, let me go talk to him? It's Jackson. I haven't seen him since the night of the formal. Or," Stiles frowns like he'd reconsidering, and his dad looks at him sharply. "The morning after, hah, since we were at the hospital so long."

His dad is eying him, like he always does when Stiles is rambling like nothing's wrong but everything is, truthfully. "Yeah, I can't let you do that," he says as he guides the car off to the side, leaving room for the Porsche to back away from the tree to leave when the time comes. Stiles feels the beginnings of dread coil in his gut, a sick anticipation. "Stay here," his dad tells him, and Stiles already has his phone out when his dad opens the door.

"Yeah, okay," Stiles looks up distractedly when he realizes that his dad is paused, looking in at him from the door to make sure he agrees. Satisfied, his dad closes the door. He sends the text to Scott - _get where I am quick! dad's about to talk to Jackson who I think is freaking out_ \- and then sends the same thing to Derek, as an afterthought. 

He knows that's who had to turn Jackson, and if anyone is capable of helping and not getting hurt it's Derek. "C'mon, guys," Stiles says aloud, in a slightly loud voice. "I don't know what's about to happen, but it doesn't _feel_ good, oh my _God_! Get here quick you have to," Stiles yells, breaking off and jumping at the door, cursing when he forgets his seatbelt. Jackson gets out of the car even before his dad knocks on the window, and he's - Stiles swallows bile, trying to ignore the sick feeling as he stumbles out the door. "Dad! Dad, get away from him, Jackson!" He's yelling, trying to distract the wolf, and his dad's eyes are wide like he can't believe the kid has fangs and yellow eyes. "Hey, furface!"

It's hard for Stiles to believe. Jackson's handsome features are grotesque, his mouth wide in a snarl and his claws are, thank God, reaching past Stiles' dad and heading for Stiles' himself. Oh _fuck_ , Stiles is the target now, and his dad is reaching for his service revolver, horrified. If Stiles had the keys, he could get the shotgun in the truck, but as soon as he thinks of it he knows it's too late. Plus, it's _Jackson_ , who Stiles sort of hates but not that much.

"Hey! Jackson, _hey_ ," Stiles' dad yells. Stiles can't do anything about it, he's already yelling at Jackson, but his dad is the closer target. He just stands there as Jackson, displaying even more grace than he does on the lacrosse field, pivots easily and guts his dad with his claws. Stiles can't _move_ , too shocked and horrified by the sight of his dad's blood. Jackson's snarling in his dad's face, and _God_ , that's his dad's _blood_ all over Jackson's claws. "Stiles, run," his dad coughs before falling backwards, sitting and then lying on the ground. So much blood, running down his dad's hands from where he's holding his wound, bubbling out past his lips.

Stiles thinks he's screaming but he's not, he realizes, when he goes to his knees to vomit on the grass. It's the noise in his head, Jackson's growls and the ringing in his ears and Stiles' own heartbeat, so fucking loud. It was so quick that his dad couldn't even fire his weapon, God, Stiles barely even saw Jackson's arm move. Yet the blood is undeniable, and Stiles heaves again, not even looking up when he hears a roar.

But then he hears another, and another, and a body he knows is Scott's is pressed against him growling protectively. "My dad," Stiles is crying, but he can't remember when he started. "Scott, my dad," Stiles says again, and then Derek's voice is yelling for Scott.

"Take Jackson, do _something_ with him," Derek is saying, and when Scott rises he pulls Stiles with him. It's okay, Stiles doesn't have anything left in his stomach anyway. Once he's on his feet Stiles takes off like a shot and gets even more grass stains on his jeans as he drops, sliding a little and jostling his dad as he kneels over him. Jackson is snarling on the ground from where Derek has him pinned, but Stiles' hands are shaking over his dad, hovering, before he presses down on the still gushing wound.

"Dad, you're going to be okay, I love you, you're breathing so keep doing that, please Dad, _please_ ," Stiles begs, trying to keep his dad's blood in his body. He looks up to his dad's face, and sees him gasping for breath, blood on his lips and eyes blinking wide. He looks so _confused_ , and Stiles holds back a sob. "Dad, you are going to be fine, I promise," he says, and he does sob then, as Derek kneels next to him and presses down on his hands to Stiles' in an attempt to help.

His breath hitches in a gasping sob as he realizes that Derek is talking to him. "He can be fine, Stiles. It's possible," Derek is saying, and yeah, _of course_ it's possible. His dad can't die. Fuck, what would Stiles _do_ \- "Stiles! I'm talking about giving him the bite, c'mon," Derek shouts, but gentles his voice when Stiles' dad opens his eyes - when did they close? they _can't_ close - to try and glare at Derek, still protecting Stiles even when he's bleeding out.

"...what," Stiles' dad is trying to talk, and Stiles chokes on a sobbed-out bit of laughter. Stubborn, and his dad always says that he gets it from his mom, but it's from both of them if anything. He can't lose his dad, he can't, and Derek could save him this way. His dad is going to hate him, but he'll be _alive_ to do that.

"He'll live?" Stiles asks, because he knows that Peter told him he could die from the bite. He can't let his dad die. He _can't_ , his dad is all he has left. They're all each other has left. 

"He has a better chance with the bite than without it," Derek says, and his hands curl around Stiles', holding them against his dad's seeping gut, keeping them firm when they slide in the blood and start to shake. His vision is blurry from the tears, but he can see the tan of his dad's uniform turning red, as is his blue plaid shirt, and Derek's grey tee. So much red, and Stiles feels bile rise in his throat again.

He swallows hard. He's already gotten his dad gutted, he's not going to puke on him too. "Do it," Stiles says, and blinks when he looks up at Derek. He blinks harder, trying to clear his eyes, and feels panic when Derek hesitates. He's watching Stiles, and the look on his face is pained, like he's remembering his own desperation, and Stiles lets out a shocked and shuddery breath when Derek _nods_. "Please," he pleads, and Derek nods again, but Stiles doesn't see any more after he watches Derek wolf out. He absurdly misses the blue glow that used to terrify him when he sees Derek's eyes flash red. Stiles' breath feels like it's been knocked out of him at the sight of Derek the alpha, the creature he's going to let near his _father_.

He can't watch this. He looks away, and blinks when he sees Jackson watching, horrified and pale, his own face wet from tears. He looks human again, and he's not looking at Stiles, he's watching Stiles' dad and Derek. Stiles _flinches_ when he hears Derek's growl, but he's glad for it because that means he can barely hear the wolf's jaws bite _somewhere_ on his dad. He still feels the need to try and fling himself between Derek and his dad, the visceral need to keep his dad _safe_ , God, but he can't. This is hopefully going to save his dad's life.

He opens his eyes to see Jackson puking into the grass, a thing that Stiles is intimately familiar with, before Scott's back at Stiles' side and pulling him into a strong hug. Stiles fights another sob and wins, choking it back down. Stiles hands are covered in blood when they come away from his dad's body, but Scott seem to doesn't care as he tugs Stiles further from Derek. Stiles tries to stop him but that's not realistic when he's the only human surrounded by werewolves, fuck, _his dad_ is going to be one. It's better than the alternative. 

Scott tugs Stiles to his feet easily and leads him back toward the police cruiser, skirting around Jackson and both vomit puddles. Stiles lets Scott wind his arm around the werewolf's shoulders, lets Scott support him, because the growling has stopped from where his dad's body is and Stiles can crane his head back to see. Derek's human looking, a smear of blood that he tried to wipe off his face on his shirtsleeve, before he hefts Stiles' dad's body and follows them.

Stiles' breath hitches again and Scott pulls on him forcefully. "Stiles, don't look, he'll be fine," Scott tells him, and Stiles hears the plaintive note inside his friend's determined voice. Stiles tries to twist around to look, to see if Derek will agree, but Scott is shoving him now, opening the back door of the police car and pushing him in, piling in the back with him.

"He'll be fine, Stiles," Derek says, and the addresses Jackson. "I'm taking him in your car. You're driving the police car, and we'll talk about this later." Stiles wants to protest - not to the talking, which sounds like a euphemism for killing, but to the driving. He wants his dad, and he struggles, but Scott practically sits on him. Jackson gulps, but opens the passenger door for Derek to lay Stiles' dad in the car. "Stiles, calm down! We're all meeting back at your house," Derek yells, and Stiles stills suddenly as Derek's eyes flash red. It's a command, and it makes Stiles realize just how deep into shit he's gotten his family: Derek is a wanted criminal that his sheriff father is after, and is now his _alpha_. Their alpha, because Stiles is pretty sure he counts as pack too.

Unless he has to be turned to be counted as pack? God, that would just - things were supposed to get better after the alpha died. People were supposed to be _safe_. "He'll be fine, Stiles," Scott reiterates both his and Derek's claims. 

Stiles doubts that _fine_ and where they are right now are even on speaking terms.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles works on autopilot, scrambling out of the car and into his house to open the garage for Derek to pull the Porsche into. He lingers a little, seeing his father's pale, slumped figure in the passenger seat, before grabbing a pile of the newspapers set aside to be recycled. His dad's bedroom is on the first floor, and Stiles wants to makes this as easy for him as possible. 

Derek already helped, a little. No blood in the cruiser, check. As little blood as possible in the house, soon-to-be-check, as Stiles is taking care of it. He planned it out in the car as Jackson drove back, ignoring the way Scott hovered protectively next to him while giving Jackson directions. 

Scott snapped at Jackson once, when Jackson was staring at Stiles in the rearview mirror, but when Stiles looked up to meet his eyes he quickly looked away. "Watch the road," he'd growled, but Jackson was already looking forward again.

Stiles dodges out of Jackson and Scott's way as they come into the house and heads to his dad's room, spreading the newspaper over the bed. Easy clean-up, check. He dashes to the bathroom and throws the medicine cabinet door open, ignoring the way Scott flinches back as the door almost hits him in the face. Gauze, wraps, peroxide, how the fuck does someone keep their guts in without heading to the hospital? Lots and lots of gauze, Stiles decides, and returns to his dad's bedroom to set the supplies on his nightstand. Scott's still behind him, and Stiles distantly hears him ask if he can help.

Stiles doesn't know what anyone can do, anymore - it's all up to his dad and whether or not Derek's bite saves him. He hears the garage door closing, and realizes that he's been staring at the newspaper-covered bed and the bottle of peroxide in his hands for a few moments. As Stiles drops the bottle he realizes that his hands are shaking, but he runs back to the garage to try to help Derek. The werewolf has the passenger door open and has bent low to gather his father, and he's being so _gentle_ about it that Stiles knows the promise of _he'll be fine_ is actually more about hoping it's true than having any factual basis. 

"Stiles, come back, give him some room," Scott says, grabbing Stiles' arm to tug him back. Derek's lifted his dad and is heading towards them. His dad is pale, skin a grey-white and covered with a sheen of sweat. It's the first time Stiles has gotten a good look at the bite - Derek wasted no time and bit close to his heart, above it on his dad's left shoulder. 

More blood, which means less in his dad's body. "Is he..." Stiles starts to ask, but chokes on the words. He hasn't seen his dad's chest move. His dad _might not be breathing_ , but as soon as the panic he's been suppressing reaches the point where he's about to flip the fuck out his dad takes a small, shuddery breath. Stiles is at his dad's side within a second, holding his hand, talking to him while he's trying to walk backwards as Derek crowds them into the house. "Hey dad, you're going to be fine, we'll have a lot to talk about when you wake up, I love you and you can _do this_."

"Where'm I putting him?" Derek asks, and Stiles finds it hard to look away from his dad's face, up to Derek's. He still has some of Stiles' dad's blood on his face, but most of it is on his shirt. God, they all have some Stilinski blood on them.

"Bedroom," Stiles says quickly, when he realizes they're in the hallway and Derek's holding onto his dad, waiting for directions. "This way," he turns quickly, and listens to Derek's heavy footsteps as he follows Stiles to his dad's room. They pass the bathroom where Jackson looks like he's trying to scrub his skin off in the sink, the water pink as it goes down the drain. 

Derek quickly passes him as the wolf catches sight of the bedroom, and sets his dad down on the bed. "Stiles, go get cleaned up. Scott and I will patch up the Sheriff," he says, and Stiles balks. There is no way he's leaving his dad, not a chance in hell! 

"We will?" Scott looks queasy at the idea, eying them both from the doorway. "I will?" He asks again, and Stiles doesn't know what to _do_ , how to help now, but he knows that he can't leave his dad.

"No fucking way am I leaving him," Stiles says, and walks forward to his dad's side. He's unconscious, probably has been since the car ride, and looks feverish. Christ, his dad is _burning_ , as Stiles finds when his hand drops onto his forehead to check. "Is the fever a good sign?" He asks Derek, and looks up at the wolf.

Derek is frowning at him, clearly unhappy about being disobeyed. "It means that the infection," he grimaces at the word, like he's not used to talking about the bite like it's a bad thing, "is spreading quickly. I bit him as close to the heart as I could." As Derek explains, Stiles looks back to his dad, taking it all in. The blood that's trickling from the bite is barely anything, and his abdominal wound has slowed considerably too.

"He's bleeding less - that's a good sign, right? He'll live?" Stiles knows that he sounds weak and plaintive, but he doesn't care. Derek isn't comforting, either: he puts bloody hands on Stiles' shoulders and implacably guides him out of the room, answering his questions with pretty horrifying non-answers.

"Both his body and the bite are fighting his wounds, but his body is also fighting the bite," Derek's voice is low, pitched to offer relief, but the words lack any comfort. When Stiles tries to plant his feet and stay in the room Derek plows on, not letting Stiles stumble when he's forced to move against his will. "The bite's going to save his life if it can change him faster than Jackson's attack can kill him." Okay, so Derek's direct answers are pretty horrifying, too. 

Scott's still standing nervously in the doorway, and Derek's a multitasker - he shoves Stiles out the door as he grips Scott's shirt to tug him inside, and before Stiles can turn back around the door is slammed behind him. _Fucker_ , that's his dad. He tries the handle, but the werewolves did something that just makes it rattle uselessly when Stiles turns it. "Derek! You asshole, let me back in," Stiles is yelling, slamming his fists against the door. "Scott! C'mon, Scott, let me in. Please, you guys, he's my _dad_ ," Stiles is close to tears again, feels them prickling behind his eyelids when he blinks, but he doesn't cry again. He won't do that unless - unless the unspeakable happens. When did it become more bearable that his dad might become a werewolf? When the alternative is death, Stiles answers himself like it's a riddle, and hopes his dad doesn't hate him.

Once it becomes clear that he's not going to be allowed back into the room with his dad until they patch him up, Stiles decides to ignore what Derek told him to do. He sits on the ground in the hallway, just outside the door. He tries to listen in, but all he can hear are low voices and occasionally the tearing of gauze. 

His dad could die in there, and he's not in there with him. His dad could become a werewolf, and he's not in there with him. Stiles brings his knees up to his chest, and stops himself from burying his face in his hands just in time. His dad's blood is still all over him, and suddenly Stiles can't stand it. Jackson's still in the first floor bathroom so Stiles dashes upstairs, and barely makes it to the toilet before he's heaving into it, nothing but bile coming up.

He strips quickly and showers, not looking down at the drain. He doesn't want to see how long it takes before the water runs clearly off of him. He closes his eyes instead, and lathers up soap everywhere, ignoring the way the bubbles must be pink. He feels like crying again, the hysteria building in his chest expanding, but all he can do is suck in a shaky breath and let it back out slowly, trying to calm himself.

He sprays off all the soap, still keeping his eyes shut, and prays that when he opens them he's clean and the water is clear.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles didn't want to leave his dad's side, but now that he's not right next to him, he's scared of what he'll find when he goes back downstairs. He gets dressed in his room and tries to decide what he needs to do, other than check on what's going downstairs. Derek will need clothes. So will Scott, and Jackson - he doesn't want to think about Jackson.

He understands, intellectually, that Jackson couldn't help himself. Scott still has issues with control, and really, the only one who doesn't is Derek. Which is kind of terrifying, considering that his dad will be a werewolf. Jackson, though - Stiles would fear him if he'd been the one attacked, but he wouldn't have this outright hatred. He'd be understanding, if he was the one bleeding out downstairs. He can't forgive someone who hurts his dad. 

Stiles sorts through his shirts to get another one that will fit Derek, since he never got the other one back. He grabs one that Scott left over on accident, and decides that it would fit Derek better than anything else. Scott can use one of his, and Jackson can - do something else. Jackson is a non-entity in his house. If he acknowledges Jackson, Stiles will hate him.

He goes downstairs and tries to breath normally when he sees that the door is still closed. He turns into the kitchen, where Jackson is sitting at the table. His face and hair are wet, like he showered, and he's wearing an undershirt that's damp and stained pink. Stiles swallows heavily, and drops the clothes on the table. He doesn't like Jackson, but he doesn't want any more of a visible reminder than the guy himself. "Here," Stiles says, and hands him the shirt meant for Scott. 

Jackson looks up, hesitating before taking the shirt. "Thanks," he says, and then stops. Stiles grits his teeth, because he didn't really expect anything else. He turns to go back to his dad's door, to start demanding answers through it if he still can't get in, but Jackson's voice stops him. "I'm - I got out of control. I had to leave the house, but it was getting to where I couldn't _drive_ , and then -" Jackson stops, lost, and that's fine with Stiles. He knows what comes next. "I never thought I'd hurt anyone," Jackson says softly, and Stiles wants to _hate_ him. 

"Scott hurts people all the time, Jackson," Stiles says. "He never almost kills him, but he hurts them. Derek hurts people, too. Peter killed people," he continues, and Jackson flinches. "This - you don't know about the time that Scott was sure he killed that guy in the bus," Stiles says, and Jackson lifts his head to meet Stiles' eyes for the first time since they were in the car. Yeah, they all remember that. "This is your life, now."

Stiles turns back around and walks out of the kitchen. He knocks on the door, and then tries the handle. It opens, and Stiles stands in the doorway as the door swings open. His dad is shirtless now, bandages around his abdomen a tinge of red just above where the wound is. Derek's head turns to Stiles, but Scott's the one who comes over to him. "He's barely bleeding anymore," Scott says. "His fever is way up, but that's to be expected, Derek says. He hasn't woken up yet," he continues, but Stiles isn't listening all that closely. It smells like illness in his dad's room, like peroxide and the way recently opened medical supplies smell, and like _blood_. Scott's holding a red and white towel in his hands, but he quickly folds away most of the red even as Stiles glances down, still trying to reassure him.

Sometimes when Scott's freaking out over Allison, Stiles forgets that his friend works for a vet, and that his mom is a nurse. So he might not be the best choice to patch people up, but he can do it. He _did_ do it, from the looks of it - Scott's hands are flecked with drying blood, but his dad's bandages are tight and neat for the most part. They've wadded his dad's clothes up on some of the newspaper, and Stiles thinks that they should just burn everything.

Shove all the bloody clothes, all of the newspaper into Jackson's car and torch it. It would be cathartic, for Stiles. "Scott," Stiles says, and Scott abruptly shuts up, looking relieved that Stiles is talking. "You should go take a shower. The upstairs one is free. You too, Derek. There's a shirt for you on the table, you can use the downstairs bathroom." He wants to be alone with his dad. Stiles crosses the room and walks around the bed to sit next to his dad, who is breathing heavily, sweat dripping off of him. Stiles wonders if the bandages will have to be changed from the sweat before they have to be changed from the blood.

"I'll stay with him, if you bring that shirt to me. I need to be in here just in case anything happens. Go get clean," Derek says, not even bothering to pitch his voice low. Stiles doesn't bother with looking away from his dad to glare. He curls his legs under him, his knee touching his dad's shoulder. He reaches out but hesitates, looking up to see what Derek has to say about him touching his dad, maybe holding his hand.

"I'll be back soon, Stiles," Scott assures him, before heading out. Derek's just watching at Stiles, but he doesn't say anything, so Stiles grabs his dad's hand and holds it in both of his. After a moment Derek takes a seat at the foot of the bed, causing it to dip slightly. 

Stiles looks over at him. "Do you think he can hear us?" He asks, and Derek frowns, looking at his dad. "Like, if I tell him it's going to be okay and everything, that it's going to be all right?" He knows that his voice is pleading, and it suddenly occurs to him just how much he's asking of Derek. The werewolf doesn't have to stick around. 

"He's - well, compared to before, he is more calm now that you're in here," Derek says, and Stiles definitely does _not_ like the sound of that. Derek's frown gets even more severe at Stiles' expression, if possible. "I don't know if he can hear you. Possibly." Derek sounds frustrated, and then offers, "it couldn't hurt, Stiles."

"This is my shirt, isn't it?" They both look up at Scott, who's holding the shirt Stiles left on the table. "I left it over here, right?" Stiles rolls his eyes, and Derek's glaring at Scott. 

"None of my shirts fit Derek, but some of my shirts will fit you, so that's why I picked that shirt for Derek. It'll actually fit him," Stiles explains, and smirks faintly as Scott reluctantly hands Derek the shirt. Very reluctantly, with Derek having to all but snatch it out of Scott's hand. Now Scott knows how it feels.

"Go shower," Derek orders Scott, and the younger werewolf actually listens. He meets Stiles' eyes in a significant glance before he heads out the door, and it definitely says _shout if you need me_. "Go," Derek growls when Scott doesn't move fast enough, and the noise makes Stiles grip his dad's hand harder. This guy will be a large part of their lives, when his dad gets better. So will the rest of the werewolves - seriously, this _life_ \- and that makes him wonder how they'll deal with Jackson.

"Derek..." Stiles starts, and Derek looks at him, twisting around to face Stiles. He looks calm, and Stiles gets the wild idea that he's trying to compensate for exactly how calm Stiles _doesn't_ feel. His dad is shuddering between them, and Stiles rubs his hand, conscious of every movement his dad makes. "So, okay, when the - when Peter was after Scott, it was so that he'd be in Peter's pack. Will dad and I be in your pack?" He's working his way up to asking about Jackson, he promises himself. "Will you - when dad wakes up," because Stiles isn't willing to consider anything else, "you'll help us? Help him with being like - a werewolf?"

Derek's staring at him again, and Stiles really doesn't feel like dealing with it. He makes an impatient noise in his throat, and the sound makes Derek blink. "You'll be in my pack," Derek confirms, eying the way Stiles is gripping his dad's hand. He turns back around and lays his borrowed shirt on his knees, before reaching up to his collar are tugging off his own. Stiles flushes and looks down to where he's holding his dad's hand, and when he looks back up Derek's in Scott's too-tight shirt, still eying Stiles speculatively. "You'll _both_ be in my pack. That doesn't bother you?"

"I - should it? You'll help dad with his new powers, he'll be more protected on his job - oh, wow," Stiles says, because something just occurred to him. He's kind of scared to ask about it, but he has to, because it's ingenious in a terrifying way. "So, okay, I have to ask because it seems like with my dad being in your pack, you benefit the most out of anyone, but." Stiles stops talking when Derek obviously gets his drift and his eyes flash _red_.

"I did not," Derek says, his voice low but not a growl - at least not _yet_ , "plan this." Derek doesn't say any more, and Stiles doesn't really need him to. It's pretty convenient for Derek, except that now the guy who is after him might die and Derek - and Derek's minion - beta? - would have killed him. 

Stiles feels the hysteria he's been fighting claw its way around in his chest, looking for an outlet. He swallows hard to keep it down. "Right, of course not," Stiles says, somewhat because he believes Derek, but more because he wants to appease him. "So, you never answered my question, though. We'd both be in your pack, so you'll help him? I mean, will he still be - himself?" Stiles asks, and knows that he sounds desperate when Derek's mouth tightens. He doesn't mean to be laying this all out on Derek, but what else can he do?

Who else does he have, that can answer his questions and help them? A part of him is still marveling that Derek is even doing this. He wonders if it's because of the whole pack thing, or if he's doing it because Stiles has helped him in the past and feels like he owes them, or if it's because his dad is Sheriff and Derek wants to be on his good side - but Derek doesn't strike him as that type. "Is Scott essentially the same person as he was?" Derek asks rhetorically and probably a little sarcastically, but Stiles just finds himself nodding. "Then there's your answer. As for helping him with his powers, older wolves usually learn faster, because they have more control of their emotional state. I didn't say that I wouldn't help, Stiles, close your mouth," Derek says, frustrated exasperation making his voice pitched low. "What I mean was that it'll be easy for me to help," Derek adds, and Stiles listens to him and closes his gaping mouth.

Maybe Derek's just doing this because it's the right thing to do, when a minion of yours goes crazy and attacks someone. _Or_ , Stiles thinks unwillingly, _maybe he's just doing it because it's the right thing to do and that's all_. "Oh, good. Cool. Thanks," Stiles says, and looks back to his dad's face. His hands are getting slippery with sweat, but having his dad's pulse under his hands, where he can _feel_ that he's still alive - it's helping. He looks down to his bandages because he feels like he should, and because he's been avoiding it since he sat down next to his dad. Stiles sees no more seeping red, but he's still unconscious, sweating and feverish. "Shouldn't he be awake by now?"

"No," Derek says, and seems content with that answer. Stiles isn't sure whether he should glare at him or not, with their current precarious situation. Derek sees him frowning and sighs. "You're fragile," Derek says, like that's something Stiles should understand even though it's coming out of left field. "You want answers you know you won't be comfortable getting." Derek is giving him a version of the _you can't handle the truth_ speech, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"I'll be fine, if you'll tell me the truth," Stiles insists, his very human version of hackles rising. This is his _father_ , he wants to know everything even if he doesn't like what he hears. He needs to hear it. Stiles has been building himself up to reject every possibility that occurs to him, but he can do that just as easily with possibilities - probabilities - that Derek tells him.

"Hn," Derek grunts, assessing him. "You're lying," he says finally, and Stiles is about to protest. "But you know you're lying," Derek concludes, and Stiles isn't entirely sure he does - did - know. "To yourself, too, I bet." Okay, so Stiles does know that he's lying to himself. He knows he's trying to make himself feel better by any means necessary, aside from stealing his dad's liquor - and the only reason that's stopping him from doing that is he figures his dad will want it when he wakes up.

And then he remembers that it won't work on his dad anymore, and realizes that everything has changed _already_. "If by refusing to acknowledge that my dad has a chance of dying, yeah, I'm a champ at lying to myself," Stiles admits, kind of proud that he got through the sentence without his voice breaking. Derek's still quiet, and it suddenly occurs to Stiles that maybe the werewolf is trying to be _comforting_. "Just tell me why he isn't awake yet, and what to expect," Stiles demands, but it's quiet enough that Derek isn't irked by it.

"He won't wake up for a while, if he does wake up," Derek says plainly, and Stiles flinches away from those words. He watches Derek narrow his eyes, and tries to steady himself with his dad's hand and the pulse he feels. It's almost like Derek's telling the truth to spite him, being ruthlessly honest because Stiles isn't doing what Derek wishes. "When Jackson changed he wanted it so badly his body accepted the bite within a few hours, but his transformation took most of the night and the fever still could have killed him had it gotten high enough. Your father is fighting the bite as the body does an infection, and he's also mortally wounded. Two out of five people survive being bitten, but no one knows how many people survive being bitten when they're already dying because it just _doesn't_ happen," Derek says, aggravated and agitated. The werewolf gets up and starts pacing, and Stiles is trying to stay calm. Derek told him that his dad has a better chance like this, and Stiles is banking on that.

"You said," Stiles swallows, and moves to a more comfortable position. He shifts to sit cross-legged, and pulls his dad's hand, holding it on one of his knees. "You said that he has a better chance of surviving with it, than without it," Stiles reminds Derek, and winces when the werewolf's eyes flash red, looking down at his dad's hand in his own. Don't piss off the only guy who can help, damn it.

"I know," Derek says, and when Stiles chances a look up again he's breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. "It's true. But there's a lot that has never been tried before. Or if it has, there are no records of it." Which makes Stiles wonder if there are vaults of records on werewolves, kept by werewolf librarians. 

"You guys keep records?" Stiles has to ask, and then hurries to continue when Derek breathes out harshly, like a bull ready to charge. "What I mean is, um, is it for lack of trying that there aren't any records? Or - um," Stiles trails off, because he doesn't want to be the one to bring up the possibility that a lack of records means a lack of _success_.

"The records are usually stories passed down, not written. How could we live in as much secrecy as we do," Derek asks, and when Stiles can't help but give him a _really? you call this secrecy?_ look, Derek reluctantly rephrases to say, "as we _try_ to, if we kept written records?" He shakes his head, and Stiles guesses that if a lot of the lore he's read were actually written by wolves it'd be a lot more accurate. He'd be better equipped to help his dad through this, to have helped Scott. "I don't know if that means that this sort of rescue," Derek says the word derisively, "has never been attempted, or if it was just ignored as a possibility because it never worked."

Stiles stares at him, and fights the urge to scream in the man's face. "You should keep written records. Everything Scott and I went through - and now my _dad_ \- would have been much easier if we had something more than _wikipedia_ to go off of." Stiles really has to fight himself, but he doesn't add _asshole_ on at the end. Derek looks like he hears it anyway, from the incredulous anger on his face.

"You think it would have been easier that way? What, you want every new wolf to get a textbook? Shit, Stiles, this isn't school. Nothing makes a transformation easier unless you're born a werewolf and never have to go through it. It's always painful and there's always the risk of fatalities, but that's the _price you pay for the gift_." Derek's looming over Stiles and his father by the end of his speech, and Stiles has never felt as unsafe as he does now, with his father's unconscious body in between him and Derek. "And you're conveniently forgetting that I tried to help, and instead I got arrested and then put on the most wanted list," Derek adds, and Stiles - he can't argue with that. Maybe Derek's way of helping was terrifying and dangerous and awful and mostly helpful to himself in the end, but he tried.

He _is_ trying, still. Derek breathes in deeply to calm himself again, and then looks more closely at Stiles, like he smells Stiles' capitulation. Stiles waits, drops his dad's hand for a moment to wipe sweat off onto his jeans, and tries to think of what to say as he picks his dad's hand back up. "...so, whatever way we look at it or argue, the answer is: you don't know. At all. About any of this. Don't look angry at me, man," Stiles says, tired all of a sudden. His dad's pulse is erratic under his hands, and Stiles feels like he'll start crying again if he doesn't close his eyes. He does, and looks down at his dad so that he's not, like, blindly facing where he thinks Derek _should_ be. "I'm not - okay, I probably was earlier, but there's nothing more you can do, right? We're waiting. I'm not blaming you, and as much as I want to blame _someone_ ," Stiles stops and sighs shakily, keenly aware of how heavy his dad's hand is, in his own. He can't hear Derek breathing over his dad's. "I'm best friends with Scott, right, so I know that Jackson couldn't control himself. He has no one to turn to outside of you, but Scott at least has me. And you," Stiles adds quickly, opening his eyes, and he's rewarded with a half-hearted glare. "You know, you should probably talk to Scott today." As soon as Stiles says it, he knows it's because of some sort of masochistic streak he must hide really well. Why else would he mention it, if only to have Derek want to hurt him? "He's under the impression - same as I am, mostly - that you killed Peter because of your sister and to become alpha," Stiles says.

Derek interrupts him. "I did," he says, simple as that. Which yeah, Stiles knows, but he's pretty sure that's not the whole story. "And that's what happened." Stiles hears the unsaid _also, shut up,_ that Derek doesn't have to say. It's in the guy's tone.

"Yeah, I know. But, you knew that the possibility of Scott getting cured from killing him wasn't for sure, you told him that. What would have happened if he had killed the alpha and he wasn't cured?" Derek is still glaring at him, but doesn't contradict him. "He'd be the alpha, right? You're equipped to handle that great power, that great responsibility," Stiles lifts one of his hands off his dad's to swish it around in the air, and wonders if his sarcasm is translating properly through movements. With the way Derek's glaring, Stiles thinks that it is. "Whatever. Talk to him, I'm serious."

"There's not anything you can do to make me, you know," Derek says, and Stiles sighs. He is aware of that, actually. "And just because that was one of the reasons doesn't mean it was the main one. I wanted Peter dead," Derek says, and maybe he's having trouble with keeping his powers in toe, because his eyes are flashing red a lot more than they ever did blue. "So I killed him. No one could have stopped me. No one _would_ have. You wanted him dead too," Derek says, like he's wondering why this matters. Stiles bets he wasn't very good in debate club, and that he sucks at politics, and that identifying what semantics are is way beneath him.

For a moment, Stiles wonders about the intelligence of telling Derek what he suddenly wants to tell him. He figures that the possibility will be brought up eventually, and his main reason for ever becoming a werewolf - his father and their protection - has already been taken care of. So he says, "Peter offered to bite me. Um, in return for helping him find you. And then he took off after I refused - the bite, not to help you, well, um, whatever - and did you know he kept his nurse's dead body in his trunk?"

"He offered -" Derek stops, and Stiles flinches back from him. His voice has dropped to a growl, and his features are going were. "He offered to bite you. When you showed up at my house, you smelled like him," Derek says, and Stiles tries to stop his racing heart from beating quite so hard. Derek's partially transformed like he's ready to fight, but his voice is back to normal, and his eyes aren't burning any longer. "And like Argent, and like your father. But the fact that you smelled like Peter," Derek shakes his head, like he's trying to clear it or shake off the animalistic features. Stiles has no idea what goes on in werewolves' minds - except for Scott's - but Stiles truly has no idea what Derek is thinking, no hints, no inkling. He wishes that he were in between his father and Derek, not for the first time today. "The fact that you smelled like Peter bothered me. You never answered me, Stiles," Derek says, and Stiles just waits for Derek to make sense. "Does it bother you, that you're in my pack? Because you were even before I bit your father."

Well, that's not what Stiles was expecting. Stiles is indignant before he can really gauge any other emotion that he's feeling. "Dude, how? _Dude_! You can't just go around making people members of your pack when they don't even know about it!" And then Stiles thinks about it, and how he couldn't have stopped Derek, probably even if he knew about it. "And even if you can, how, and _when_ did you do that?"

"Do what?" Stiles jumps, barely keeping hold of his dad's hand. Derek smirks evilly at him, and then looks at Scott in the doorway. His hair is wet and Stiles rolls his eyes at the way his shirt is stretching across Scott's shoulders. Ridiculous wolves with ridiculous physiques. 

"Nothing, just something Derek and I need to talk about later," Stiles says firmly, and settles himself back onto the bed. If he's been in Derek's pack unknowingly - and a part of him says _unwillingly_ , but he just not even thirty minutes ago asked Derek if he and his dad were in the pack, so it could be argued that Derek just preempted him - Stiles decides he's going to test out just what being pack means. "Derek and I were just talking, Scott, and he'd like you to know that -" Derek growls, and Stiles fights a flinch. "Maybe he'll just tell you that later. But make sure you ask. You two should have a heart-to-heart. Preferably before my dad wakes up so that I don't have to deal with even more stress than the fact that now, every important person in my life is a _werewolf_." As soon as he says that, he remembers Lydia. "Or is something indefinable."

They both look like they're going to say something, at that. Scott is about to offer up his house, just in case things turn bad, but when Stiles frowns at him he swallows the words. Derek, of course, just says, "shut up, Stiles. Whatever happens, you can't change it." That's a warning and a threat, Stiles knows, but Scott just glares at Derek in frustrated admonishment, like Derek was trying to _comfort_ Stiles in a brusque-and-harsh-realities way. What a laugh.

Scott crosses the room and sits next to Stiles' dad, and it's pretty weird for Stiles to watch him do his vet-assistant thing on a person. On _his dad_. Scott reaches out and, after a glance at Stiles, rests his hand on Stiles' dad's forehead. Stiles watches him cast a glance at Derek, his expression very controlled, and he knows that it would be easier if he wasn't in the room. "His fever is pretty much the same temperature," Scott says, in a nervous voice, carefully pitched to not freak out Stiles.

"That's promising," Derek says shortly, crossing his arms and coming to stand behind him, looking down at Stiles and his dad over Scott. Having someone in between his dad and Derek is making Stiles feel a little better, even if it is Scott. "If it gets any higher we'll worry. Check his wounds," Derek nods at the bandages, "and see if the bleeding has stopped completely. That'll mean - well, hopefully," Derek says, and both Stiles and Scott glare at him, "that the bite has taken hold, and now he just has to survive the fever."

Stiles feels cold at those words, despite holding his dad's hand. It's a chill descending down his spine, and Stiles wants to shout at Scott, who actually looks _optimistic_ at Derek's words. He closes his eyes as he sees Jackson at to the doorway, eyes hopeful, and just squeezes his dad's hand tighter in his own as he hears Scott messing with the bandages. And then the smell hits him - God, it smelled like sickness in the room when he entered, but under the bandages it smells like _death_ , like old blood. Stiles can't - he opens his eyes because he has to navigate out of the room, he can't stay in here for this and not be sick. He sees the bite mark uncovered and feels so nauseous he almost passes out.

It's red and fleshy and swollen, pus-filled puncture marks and raw meat at the edges, but there's no ripped flesh. The bruise around it is purpled and yellowed, showing the places where Derek's teeth bit neatly and vividly. The bandage is disgusting and yellowed, sweat-soaked and pinkish from blood and peroxide. Orange, from pus and blood and the plamsa in his dad's blood. Stiles _curses_ the day he learned enough from Anatomy and Physiology to identify all of that and shudders, dropping his dad's hand. He backs up quickly and almost falls out of bed, ignoring Scott's shocked glance. "I'm going to be sick," he says quickly, and then Derek's hands are heavy on his shoulders, balancing him and helping him out of the room.

"Take him into the kitchen, get him water. Make him _sip_ it," Derek says, and Stiles doesn't know who he's addressing until he's pushed into Jackson, whose hands shakily steady him before they make their way out of the room and the door shuts quickly behind them. He doesn't look at Jackson until the guy pushes him into a seat at the table, where he's left while Jackson follows Derek's instructions.

He makes it ice water, and only pulls out one glass from the cupboard - Stiles watches as he fills two with ice, though, so he must have already had one. He gets water from the tap, and Stiles watches him hesitate before turning around. Stiles drops his eyes to the table before Jackson heads over, and doesn't look up until Jackson's set the water down and is seated across from him. Jackson's staring at him and frowning. "What?" Stiles asks, and Jackson nods to the water Stiles hasn't touched yet.

Stiles feels like throwing it - the ice, water and the glass - in Jackson's face. Instead, only _partially_ because Derek said to, he takes a small sip. As he does, that's when Jackson speaks. "I'm - I don't know what to say. I'm trying to think of a way to apologize," Jackson says, and when he says that, Stiles _really_ looks at him. Jackson looks like he's about to be ill, too, like he's been praying almost as hard as Stiles has for good news. "Nothing I come up with is good enough." He sounds sure on that count, and Stiles knows it's true. Nothing he'll ever say will be good enough.

"Well," Stiles says, after another sip to try and gather his thoughts. "That's pretty much the sum of it, yeah." Jackson looks almost stricken when Stiles says that, and Stiles feels the absurd and hysterical need to _laugh_ , directly in Jackson's face. What did he expect? So usually Stiles does a good doormat imitation, but he really can't about this. Jackson probably expects what Stiles' dad will give him: forgiveness and a responsibility lecture, and an arm around Jackson's shoulders all the while. "My dad will forgive you when he wakes up, after he gets over the whole werewolf thing," Stiles offers, and Jackson blinks at him like he isn't sure what to say about Stiles' continued optimism. "But that's kind of why I won't. He's all I have left, do you get that?"

As soon as he asks it, Stiles understands that no, Jackson probably doesn't get it. He's never cared about someone that much, even when he had Lydia which pisses Stiles off so _thoroughly_ that Jackson eyes him like he can feel it. "Yeah, I get it," Jackson says anyway, and Stiles finds that he can take the lie in stride because it's obvious that Jackson's trying to make it true.


	4. Chapter 4

They go into the living room with their water, and Stiles turns on the TV. He's not actually going to watch it, so he just flicks the remote to Jackson. The werewolf just kind of looks at it and then turns it automatically to ESPN, which is so obviously what Stiles knew would happen that he can't even muster up the energy to roll his eyes. Jackson is so uncomfortable with him that Stiles almost asks when the guy is leaving, but he doesn't. He's pretty sure that Jackson will stay until Stiles' dad wakes up, which is probably one of the braver things he's done.

Only, now that Jackson has someone to talk to, he keeps talking. "I'm not trying to make excuses," he starts, and Stiles sighs. He hopes his dad breaks the mold, because so far, all werewolves have done to him are cause pain and make excuses. "I don't remember it. I don't remember _any_ of it, from when I got into the car until Derek had me pinned and McCall told me that I - did, uh, it."

As far as excuses go, though, Stiles can understand this one. "Scott - the same thing happened to him. Sort of. With the bus driver, it was the Peter who killed him, but Scott was there. He didn't remember it, until he realized that he did and just thought it was a dream," Stiles says it, and Jackson looks doubtful. "What? You don't think that Scott was there?" He asks, because it's really not his story to tell, but Scott won't mind. In fact, and as much as Stiles is loathe to admit it, Scott and Jackson could be useful to each other. They should train together just to ensure that they actually _train_ , because Scott, bless his heart, flakes out pretty easily without competition, and Jackson's so convinced of his own superiority that he needs the competition.

"It's not that I don't believe that he was there," Jackson says, and there it is: Stiles can see Jackson's usual contempt for _everything_ , but it's more muted than normal. "I really find it hard to believe that he has enough impulse control," he admits like everyone would have the same issue, and Stiles automatically bristles on behalf of his best friend, even if he totally understands where Jackson's coming from.

Or maybe he doesn't _totally_ understand, since Jackson has the same urges as Scott does and Stiles has never, and never will. "Just wait until the full moon," is all Stiles says, and it's ominous enough for Jackson forget that he's supposed to be nice to Stiles and glares at him instead. Suddenly and briefly, all is right in Stiles' world, before he wonders if they're done with his dad's wounds and Stiles' world is all wrong again. "Are they done yet?" Stiles asks Jackson, and rolls his eyes at the way Jackson shoots him a _how am I supposed to know_ look. "You could try, I don't know, being a werewolf and listening. How you do, when you're a werewolf with werewolf powers."

Stiles genuinely wonders if he'd make a better werewolf than Scott or Jackson, just because he bothers to _know things_. Jackson blinks at him and frowns, and Stiles thinks that he's going to refuse just to be a spiteful little asshole, but then Jackson closes his eyes and _tries_ it. 

"This is fucked up," Jackson says quietly, and Stiles isn't sure what he's specifically talking about, but he's pretty sure he agrees. Jackson's quiet for a few moments, and Stiles is about to get up and walk away, before: "I can - Scott's talking to his mom - I guess on the phone, telling her he's staying over at your house tonight, and she's fine with that since she works late, and Derek - I hear water running and I think he's washing his hands, and your dad's heartbeat is _deafening_ , Stiles, Jesus," Stiles hears Jackson mumble, before he almost trips in his haste to get up and back into his dad's room.

He runs, and Derek meets him just outside of the bedroom, steadying him as he slides to a halt. The man keeps his hands on Stiles' shoulders and back as he walks into the room behind him, and Stiles spares the thought of _maybe he's drying his hands_ before he lets himself have the physical comfort of it and relaxes to the sight of his dad in mostly the same position, chest heaving breathes in and out and bandages once again safely in place. "The bleeding's stopped," Derek says, and pushes Stiles onward into the room. Stiles hears him, but can't really understand what he's saying at first because he can't believe he gets _good_ news. "Stiles, did you hear -" Derek stops suddenly, because Stiles needs to hug someone and he's the closest person.

Stiles supposes it's shocking. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," Stiles is saying over and over again into Derek's chest, and it doesn't even bother him that Derek just kind of awkwardly grasps one of his shoulders and, like, pats Stiles on the head. If Derek keeps giving him good news about his dad and the fact that they're achieving all of the criteria they need to for him to _live_ , Derek's going to need to get used to hugs. He'll get better at them.

"Aw, man, you told him without me?" Scott says upon returning, like seeing Stiles hugging Derek and maybe crying a little is _normal_ in these circumstances. Derek immediately steps back and Stiles lets go of him, flushing at the way he's very aware of Derek's body, suddenly. And then Scott's grinning and hugging him so exuberantly that he lifts Stiles off the ground. It's a lot of back-slapping and hard squeezing, and it's easier to stop hugging Scott than it was to stop hugging Derek.

Stiles should have known that his charitable feelings toward Derek wouldn't last because he's a buzzkill, but Stiles tries to tell himself that he didn't really expect any less. "He still has to get through the fever," Derek warns them, but Stiles just goes back to sit next to his dad, and lets Scott glare at him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some stuff that was hard for me to write, even harder than the rest of the story has been. Stuff about losing family members, stuff about panic attacks, and how we try to cope with losing loved ones but even if it does go away, the feeling of loss can always come back.

"There's no such thing as privacy in a house full of werewolves, is there," Stiles asks rhetorically, and Derek snorts. Stiles glances at him, and then at the door. Scott's in the kitchen getting food together to make sure Stiles eats, and probably himself too. Stiles already told Derek to go help himself, but the werewolf just looked at him like he was trying not to sneer. 

"Not really," Derek answers him even though it wasn't a question. "Scott is hesitating, but he's going to make Jackson some of whatever he's making you," Derek says, and to Stiles, it seems like he's showing off. Stiles is sitting next to his dad with Derek sitting at the foot of the bed again, and Stiles is pretty proud that he's abstained from making loyal dog jokes. "Jackson just refused your food, after Scott asked if he wanted anything."

Stiles frowns at Jackson refusing his hospitality, even though he doesn't want Jackson eating his food anyway. "Scott's too nice to be a werewolf," Stiles mutters. "He doesn't have the pent up animosity Jackson has leaking out of his very _pores_ , and he definitely doesn't have your," Stiles stops, because Derek's glaring at him. "Your admittedly very appropriate anger, of course," Stiles says quickly. "He has to, like, invent his anger to control himself or rely on his inherent rage now that he's like you. Or think about Allison, which is probably where his obsession got its training wheels."

"He's too stupid to be a werewolf," Derek says scornfully, but there's no real heat behind it. When Stiles looks away from his dad's face - he looks like he's just sleeping restlessly and not fighting for his life, but Stiles has always been good at playing _pretend_ \- he takes a good look at Derek. The man looks tired, but calm, and he has a confidence that Stiles wants to borrow. "He's telling Jackson that he's making us sandwiches, and he'll leave his in the fridge for him."

Stiles sighs and knows it won't matter how much he protests, because Scott will make him eat. He's not holding his dad's hand anymore because his dad's taken to twitching, agitated in his sleep. His fever hasn't broken, and it's been about two hours since the bleeding stopped. And Stiles really doesn't want to eat yet, because he's pretty sure he won't be hungry until his dad wakes up. "So he's going to feed you, too," Stiles says, and it's kind of funny. Maybe between the two werewolves eating he'll get away with...not eating. 

Derek looks uncomfortable with the idea that someone is doing something for him. "Yeah," he agrees, and Stiles wonders if Derek will listen to him when Scott won't, about how the idea of food makes him sick. "We're going out there to eat," Derek says, and Stiles wonders if those are Scott's rules. "You'll feel less sick away from him," he nods to Stiles' dad, and Stiles decides at that very moment that he's not moving away from the bed until his dad wakes up. "And you are going to eat." Derek's voice is firm, his will absolute. 

"Nope," Stiles says, and then quickly looks down at Derek's glare. Derek stands, and for a moment Stiles feels triumphant, like Derek's so frustrated with him he's just going to leave the room, and Stiles will finally be alone with his dad. Then he realizes that he never gets that lucky and Derek's walking up behind Stiles, probably intent on dragging him. "Oh my God, not necessary," Stiles says hastily, and rises when Derek's hand lands heavily on his shoulder. "But this is the deal: I'll eat, if you eat." Stiles doesn't know why he says it, but Derek squeezes his shoulder as he steers Stiles out the door. Because of his grip Stiles can't easily turn to see his dad, but he catches the sight of his dad's face, his brows creased and sweat beading his temples.

"He'll be _fine_ , Stiles," Derek growls, and Stiles cranes his head to look at Derek in the face to make sure he means that. Derek's eyes are trained on their path toward the kitchen as he continues, "for the twenty or so minutes it takes to eat." Stiles wants to _hate_ him, and tells himself that he feels better when Derek drops his hand from his shoulder. He doesn't miss it for long, though, because Derek's pushing him with a hand between his shoulder blades toward the table. "Jackson, table. You're eating too," Derek says, aiming to spread the joy to everyone.

Scott blinks at all the people around the table and then rolls his eyes, getting Jackson's food back out of the fridge as everyone takes a seat. Stiles' abandoned water glass appears in front of him, and Scott didn't bother with making plates: there's a plate with a pile of dry ham sandwiches, no condiments or cheese or anything on them. Stiles frowns, but he takes one quickly. The faster he eats, the faster he can get back to his dad. 

Jackson's the only one with a plate, and he's frowning at the two sandwiches like they offend him. They're colder than the others, but Stiles is getting irritated because 1) it's food, 2) it's _free_ , 3) it's from the house of the guy he could have killed so have some fucking _respect_. When Derek's foot kicks Stiles under the table he blinks, and realizes that he's been glaring at Jackson for a couple of moments. He takes a giant bite to compensate, and has to work to chew.

He's not hungry at all, and he's still a little queasy. The bread sticks to the top of his mouth and the ham is slimy and heavy on his tongue. Jackson looks like he's having the same problem, and Stiles is vindictively happy about it. There's a painfully awkward silence that Stiles is, for once, content to leave. He knows he nervously babbles to fill any silence, but he's surrounded by werewolves and all he wants is to go back and sit with his dad. 

"So, um. I didn't know what people wanted on their sandwich," Scott says, and Stiles sighs. Trust Scott to fill in for Stiles, doing his job as best friend. "But there's, like, mustard and mayo in the fridge, and should I just be offering your food out like this?" He asks Stiles abruptly, and Stiles just shrugs, still chewing his first bite. It's slow going, and he takes a drink of water to help it go down, catching Jackson's wince as Stiles mixes food and water in his mouth. 

When it's finally down it settles in his gut like something just waiting to get thrown up. "Unless one of them is going dip their sandwich into the jar of Miracle Whip I don't think it matters," Stiles says, and glares at his sandwich so that he doesn't glare around the table. 

Derek gets up abruptly to head to Stiles' fridge, and they all eye him as he returns with Stiles' dad's spicy mustard and the aforementioned jar of Miracle Whip, and oddly, the bottle of Louisiana hot sauce. Stiles eyes the combination nervously, but Derek just opens his sandwich and dollops mustard on it, using the bread - whole grain, for Stiles' dad's health - to spread it. When he takes a bite, Stiles supposes that he got the Miracle Whip out to be polite - _hah_ \- and the hot sauce remains a mystery. 

"Why hot sauce?" Scott asks, and Stiles has to smirk at the vague _ew_ tone in his voice. Not that Stiles feels any differently, but he's just glad that it's not him asking, so it's not him on the receiving end of Derek's glare for probably the first time today.

Derek's silent while chewing, and Scott quickly looks back down, and then gets up from the table altogether. It's only to get a breadknife, with which he uses in the Miracle Whip jar. "S'more tolerable if you mix it with hot sauce," Derek answers after swallowing, his mouth still food-sticky. Scott looks back and forth between the Miracle Whip and the hot sauce and can't quite hide the disgusted look on his face. Stiles looks down at his mostly whole sandwich and wonders if there is anything he could add to make it more palatable, before deciding that no, it's probably not the sandwich. It's just him. 

"You use Miracle Whip?" Jackson's frowning, and Stiles rolls his eyes as he looks up. "Why?" Jackson asks, and Stiles knows he's doing it just to be argumentative. Or maybe he's devoutly pro-mayonnaise, and Stiles shifts in his seat, because he remembers when his dad threw a fit about Stiles replacing the jar of mayo after his doctor told him to change his diet. Jackson's mom probably makes her own _aioli_ at home just for her little prince, and wow, Stiles keeps finding reasons to try and hate Jackson. Maybe he needs to chill out.

"Light Miracle Whip, actually. Dad needed to cut calories after his last check up," Stiles says, and glares at Jackson. He realizes how much that doesn't matter, now, wonders if werewolves need to worry about dieting and cholesterol. Stiles doesn't know, and can't care right to ask at the moment. He wants to be _elsewhere_. "Also, because fuck you, that's why," he mutters and gives up. Stiles tosses his sandwich down on the table and starts to scoot his chair out to leave, but between Scott hooking his foot around the leg of Stiles' chair and Derek's hand suddenly cupping the back of Stiles' neck, he can't go very far. "Damn it, guys, I'm not hungry," Stiles says, and he just wants to see his dad, damn it.

"The sheriff's condition hasn't changed since we left the room, Stiles," Derek says, and Stiles stops pressing back against Derek's hand as thinks about what the man said. "I've been keeping an ear on his heartbeat." Derek pushes Stiles' head forward, and Stiles takes a quick breath. Derek's arm drops to the back of his chair like he knows what Stiles is thinking, and Stiles tries to settle himself.

It's like a sharp and prickling feeling under his skin, the way he wants to see his dad. It's not that Stiles doesn't trust Derek - about keeping up with his dad's condition and telling the truth about it, at least - but he even said that Stiles' dad was more calm when Stiles was in the room. He knows he might need a break, but he doesn't right now. He can take a break when his dad's fever breaks and he's resting fitfully. "I can't eat right now, honestly," Stiles says, because he's so nervous and the thought of his dad alone in his room makes his stomach turn. "I might as well go back in."

"You need a break," Scott says quickly, concern in his voice. He's to the left of Stiles, and his anxious glances are grating on Stiles' nerves. Stiles stays silent, because he's trying to not take his anger and fear out on anyone who doesn't deserve it - and Jackson's keeping quiet now, thank God - but then Scott tries a different tactic. "C'mon, Stiles, your dad would want you to eat," Scott tries to bargain, and Stiles - he knows that when he looks back on it later, he'll recognize that he doesn't respond well.

"Would he really?" Stiles asks Scott, his tone brilliantly conveying _brand new information, also, I hate you_. He strains against Derek's arm to back his chair up. "Let me just go ask him what he wants, get his opinion on the matter, maybe he'd like a sandwich too!" Stiles says, and then gives up on getting away from the table before he decides _fuck it_ , and goes sideways - his chair has no arms, and he squeezes-slides right out before Derek can grab the back of his neck again. He's out the kitchen door quickly, not quite running, but it doesn't matter because Derek's already behind him. "God damn it, will you just - hey!" Stiles isn't dragged back to the kitchen like he's expecting, and it's kind of hard to put up the kind of fight he wants to without clinging to the doorframe as he's herded past his dad's room. "What the _hell_ , Derek," Stiles says as he's shoved into the bathroom, but he doesn't try to get out because Derek's in too, shutting the door behind him.

Stiles' mind whirls with the possibilities of what could happen right now, and only a few would be pleasant under certain circumstances, but none of those circumstances are _right now_. "You need to calm down. You need to start thinking," Derek says, and when he presses Stiles down to sit on the toilet seat it occurs to Stiles that he's _tired_ of people pushing him. 

"Yeah?" Stiles asks, and thinks about standing up again, only Derek's lowering himself to sit on the edge of the tub across from Stiles. It occurs to Stiles that if he stands up now his crotch will be in Derek's face, and that is _awkward_. "Make me," he says, possibly because he's regressing in age and temperament. Derek only glares at him.

After a moment, though, Derek asks, "how?" Stiles doesn't really have an answer to that. "Tell me how," Derek says, and that just - Stiles mind is going in twelve directions at once, but Derek saying that to him while sitting to close _nonviolently_ , with their knees touching - Stiles doesn't know what to say, but he knows what he _feels_. So does Derek, apparently, because his takes a quick breath in through his nose and his eyes narrow at Stiles.

All Stiles can think is that this is _completely inappropriate_ , and something very bad is about to happen. He hurriedly says, "you could tell me that everything's going to work out fine and that my dad will be an awesome werewolf." Derek had been leaning closer, but to do what, Stiles isn't sure. He stops at Stiles' words, stills completely, and sighs. They're so close that Stiles can feel the exhalation on his arms. "You could just lie to me," Stiles says plaintively, and Derek shakes his head. 

"I can't do that. Wouldn't, either," Derek shoots him down, and Stiles doesn't know why he's so hell-bent on telling Stiles the truth about his dad, every little bit of horrifying truth. He feels the hysteria he's been fighting build up again, like a pot put on flames to boil. 

"Why not?" Stiles asks and is a little horrified by the hitch in his voice. Derek ignores it, and Stiles freezes for a second as the werewolf leans forward again, but it's only to reach past Stiles and - turn on the faucet?

"It'll keep them from listening to our conversation as easily," Derek says, and Stiles can only nod. Derek leans back and looks at Stiles for a moment, but Stiles just looks down at the rug their feet are on, at the way Derek's shoes are bracketing Stiles' bare feet, at the way their knees are touching. Stiles thinks it's terrible of him to feel like this is the safest he's felt all day. "If I told you that everything would be okay, how would you feel if I was wrong? Even if you knew I was lying to you, even if you asked for it?"

Stiles' immediate answer is to say _grateful_ , but he knows that it's a lie. "You know how I'd feel," Stiles mutters finally, and looks up to meet Derek's eyes. The man's frowning at him, but not in a way the preempts violence - and Stiles is getting pretty good at predicting that.

"You're in my pack, and I have to protect you," Derek says, and then shakes his head. "You're annoying, but I even _want_ to protect you, some of the time." Stiles knows that he must have cost him _so much_ to admit that. "But I'm not going to protect you from the truth," Derek's voice is unyielding.

"The truth - which is my dad could die, or be a werewolf," Stiles says, but he's not done. He's making a list now, of everything in his life that's weird, that can be blamed on the fact that werewolves exist. "We're in your pack, but so is Jackson but Scott isn't," Stiles goes on, and Derek shakes his head. "What, I know Jackson is," he says, so maybe something between Derek and Scott changed?

"Scott and I - talked," Derek frowns, like he would rather have done anything else. Stiles is about to ask when that happened, but Derek continues with, "when you and Jackson _talked_ ," Derek says, and there's a definite tone of sarcasm on the end, there.

"Really. So Scott, my dad and myself, Jackson, and you - we're a pack? Why did Scott agree?" Stiles asks, because if he knows one thing about Scott it's that he's easily distracted, and if Stiles knows one thing about Derek it's that he can take advantage of that. And he knows so, so much more than those two things about these two werewolves. 

"He recognizes that he needs training," Derek says, but Stiles knows that's not the answer to the question he asked. He wonders if they even talked about anything to do with what they needed to, and then knows that the answer is _probably not_. 

"That's so a non-answer," Stiles tells Derek, and Derek snorts, looking down. It's true that Scott needs training, so Stiles is glad he's in the pack for that, but what's Derek going to do - teach a how to be a werewolf and deal with your powers class with students Scott and Jackson, and star pupil Sheriff Stilinski? "Wait a minute," Stiles says, and thinks. Something clicked in his mind when he thought about his dad and himself and Scott, and it's _so close_ to the surface of his mind he just has to think about why Scott would join Derek's pack, and why he'd feel the need. "Of course. You - you are a sneaky wolfish guilter! You got Scott in your pack because he wants to help dad and I! And I bet you didn't even tell him about the mmmph," Stiles stops talking as Derek's hand presses against his mouth to shut him up.

"He _decided_ that it would be better if he joined. I agreed. It was his idea." Derek looks at him in the eye and Stiles believes him, but not because of anything Derek's done. He believes Derek because it's something Scott would totally do. Derek hesitates, Stiles can feel it in his hand on Stiles, but he pulls away and lets Stiles talk. It's weird that Derek's hand smells like Stiles' hand soap from the bathroom they're in.

"And I bet you didn't even tell him anything that I told you to tell him," Stiles guesses, and Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles. "No, of course not, because the big bad alpha werewolf has a _reputation_ to uphold," Stiles says, and rolls his eyes right back at Derek. Not that telling Scott all of the real reasons that he killed Peter would have made him cuddly, suddenly, but apparently they just can't take the chance that Derek might be seen as approachable in any way. "Ridiculous. You've all but admitted in the course of our conversations today that you do, in fact, care about us," Stiles blithely continues, and thinks about everything that Derek's done today, and said. Derek's frowning at him but Stiles finds it easy to ignore. 

"Stiles," Derek interrupts him. "I'm not - Jesus, you're an idiot. You're somehow convinced that most people are as good as you and your dad are," Derek says, and he's so wrong about that it's kind of funny. "I'm not. It's true that I wasn't sure about any possible cure to someone getting the bite, but I just wanted Peter dead. Does that make sense to you? I was half feral," Derek pauses, and his eyes flash red, and somehow Stiles still doesn't feel unsafe, for probably the first time. "And I had my sister's murderer at my feet. It's no deeper than that. Now will you let me ask you a question?"

Stiles isn't aware that Derek needs his permission to do anything, but it's kind of nice that he takes the time to ask. "Sure," Stiles answers. The water is still running from the faucet, and Stiles feels pretty lucky that he hasn't had enough water to need to pee. 

"I'm still not sure about a cure," Derek says, and waits for Stiles to nod. "Scott killing Peter could have worked," Derek continues, and again, he waits for Stiles to nod. He looks kind of exasperated, actually. "It's not even occurring to you that you and your dad could kill me and he could be human again, Stiles," Derek says, and his voice is almost gentle. 

Kill Derek? Stiles couldn't - his dad couldn't - _they_ couldn't do that. His dad's going to live, and he might be pissed at all of Stiles' lies and the fact that he's now a supernatural creature, but he'll be grateful to be alive. "Oh my God, Derek, we'd never do that! Dad's going to be so pissed, but that's all me, not you - I mean, how long have I been lying to him? He's going to _need_ you, we both are," Stiles says, and feels kind of like throwing up at how true it is, that he needs Derek. He looks down, seeing both of their feet on the rug, and blinks when his vision blurs. Stiles doesn't want to have to handle any more revelations today.

"See?" Derek asks, and drops his hand to rest heavy on Stiles' shoulder. "That's why you're in my pack, and why you have been," the werewolf says. They don't like each other much, but they're good for each other, and pack takes care of each other. As if to prove it, Derek stands and pulls Stiles up with him. "Now come on. You're eating at least one sandwich before you return to stand vigil." If it's slightly sarcastic when Derek says it, Stiles attributes it to the fact that they just had a heart-to-heart that almost made Stiles _cry_ , and Derek needs to compensate by being manly and difficult. 

It's when Stiles sits down at the table across from Jackson and thinks about what Derek said - killing him to become human again - and wonders if Jackson knows about the possibility. Jackson chose this so it shouldn't matter, but Stiles has a feeling that this life isn't all Jackson thought it would be. Even after Scott warned him and even after both the hunters _and_ Peter Hale almost killed them all he chose it, but after today Jackson - it's only been a _day_ for his dad, not even a full one - seems to be reconsidering.

Hindsight and all of that, Stiles gets it, but he still hopes that if Jackson doesn't know about the possibility, that no one ever tells him. Stiles knows that he's not really being all that charitable toward Jackson but he figures that's expected of him. The guy isn't nice, doesn't appreciate what he has, but he's no more a murderer than Stiles could ever be. Not when he's in control, at least.

Really, the only people Stiles could ever kill for would be his mom, and that's too late, and his dad, which they've already covered today. His dad has had to kill in the line of duty, and those nights - few and far between, and those are the two Stiles knows about - are pretty awful. There were times when his dad probably wanted to kill his mom's doctors, and he's pretty sure that his dad could - "Oh my God."

Stiles drops his sandwich to the table accidentally, his grip giving out. He feels like throwing up again, so sick and doomed that it settles in his stomach and expands like a balloon. "Stiles, what's going on?" Scott asks, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. On his other side, Stiles notices Derek do the same before hesitating, aborting the movement.

Even Jackson looks concerned, which is laughable, considering... "My dad's gun. It's still out there, he dropped it and now it's out there, what if someone else found it, what if -" Stiles stops, choked, because Scott's jerking him back away from the table as Jackson's eyes flash yellow. 

"He pulled his gun?" Jackson asks, and he's snarling a little, claws are scraping along Stiles' table and leaving short furrows. "He was going to shoot me?" Scott's pulling Stiles up from his chair now, and Stiles lets him, but it figures that all of his would trigger his hysterical meltdown. He's been waiting for a panic attack all day.

He's laughing hysterically, and he can't even stop when Jackson snaps and tries to come across the table at him. "Of course he was going to shoot you," Stiles says between laughs, sick to his stomach. "You were going to kill us, you asshole! And even if he did shoot you," he's hiccupping now, his face wet from tears, and at this rate Derek's going to break his table with how hard he's pinning Jackson down. "Look at all the times Derek's been shot, and Scott! You fucking -" Stiles contemplates biting Scott's hand when it clamps down over his mouth, but he doesn't really want two feral werewolves in his house. 

"Both of you, _calm down_ ," Derek says, and for Stiles it does nothing except make him angrier, but Jackson immediately stills, breathing heavily, face down on Stiles' table. "You good?" Derek asks quietly, and when Jackson nods he eases up. 

Stiles wants to yell at him to not trust Jackson - this is the second time he's tried to kill Stiles - but Scott seems to get where Stiles' thoughts are so he keeps his hand over Stiles' mouth. Stiles is finding it hard to breathe, between hiccupping laughter-sobs and Scott's hand, but when Scott does let go of him the panicked _can't breathe_ feeling doesn't go away. 

"Shit, he's having a panic attack," Scott says quickly, and when Stiles drops to his knees and braces his back against his chair, Scott follows him down. Stiles can't think straight, can't even think at all. He sits and gets his legs out from under him, scooting back, putting more distance between himself and everyone. "Stiles, you need to calm down, everything is going to be fine, you're dad's going to be fine! This isn't working," Scott says plaintively, and turns toward Derek. "He said that distraction helped in the past, but what do I _do_?"

"He's gotten these before?" Jackson asks, and Stiles _can't breathe_ with his heartbeat so erratic. His vision is blurry, his head swimming, and the only thing he can think of is his dad and what's going to happen now that he might be the only one left of his family.

"When his mom died," Scott says quietly, answering Jackson, but that just - Stiles' chest _heaves_ , but there's no air around him and Stiles feels nauseous. First his mom left him, now his dad is leaving him, and there's nowhere for him to go. He's trapped in between Scott and the chair he backed himself up against, and with a chill he realizes that everyone in his house - with the exception of himself, and the possibility of his father - has a hair-trigger temper and claws that could rip him in half to come with it.

And he's just admitted that his dad pulled his gun to shoot one of them. Stiles slams his eyes shut. The chill in his body worsens, sweat making him clammy and he can't even hear what they're saying now over the sounds of his heartbeat and his breathing. He opens his eyes and jerks to the right when someone touches his left arm - Derek, looking grim and harsh, is crouched next to him, and Scott's anxiously hovering to his right. Stiles needs to get away, he needs to go get his dad's gun and then he needs to - 

He registers a startling and harsh _pain_ , like an instant migraine, before nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A montage sort of ending to a fic that will permanently remain unfinished.

I've been putting it off a while, but it's time to admit that I'll never finish this fic. I know how it ends: Sheriff becomes a werewolf and is just sort of naturally good at being one, Derek is still alpha and he's the furriest and angriest and most concerned helicopter over the Stilinskis, Jackson is a shitty and loving and adorable douche, Scott is pretty great at being a friend and a werewolf and a good person in general, and Stiles works up the nerve to kiss Derek a few months after everything goes down. 

Peter stays dead, Lydia makes Jackson make her happy because Jackson needs that, Allison and Scott are that couple that is so happy together that people get creeped out by, and Stiles and Derek take things slow, out of respect to Sheriff, and because Derek has issues with people he has liked, and because Stiles has never liked anyone who has liked him back and it's weird and new.

But everyone works hard to make it all work out, and they live happily ever after fighting a monster of the week type of thing. The end.


End file.
